Tuesday 16 May, 2000.
I'm sitting on the sofa as I type this on my little i-book. I spend much of my life here, writing and playing Cat Buckaroo.
I've just enjoyed an exeptional game, actually. I managed to balance a small photograph album, a copy of Billy Childish's Notebooks Of A Naked Youth, a zine called The Wussy Boy Chronicles, a 1973 edition of Nicholas Saunders' Alternative London Survival Guide for Strangers and a large glass bottle of Clinique Dramatically Different Moisturising Lotion on my cat's prone form. I was just working out if I could balance a Walkman on there too, but she saw it coming and shifted, sending the pile tumbling back into the depths of the sofa.
It's 3.41pm and I've just been for coffee with Frances. She's not a lazy freelancer like me but she only works round the corner, so we often have lunch together. Today we went to Coffee@Brick Lane - surely the worst name for a coffee shop ever. I mean, how many pseudo-cool signifiers can we try and slip into a sentence at one time? It'd be like saying to people 'Oh hi, I'm AMP and I'm an internet content producer who lives in a live/work space in Shoreditch.' I mean, who would say that? Apart from me, if I was honest rather than a big fat liar.
And I'm not going to be a big fat liar any more. I've decided I've been being too coy in this diary bit. Although American style 'confessional' zines do not come naturally to the English (witness the high amount of 'personalzines' produced over there compared to over here), nonetheless I feel I should accept the parameters of my chosen form - the online journal - instead of needlessly fighting them. Basically, shit or get off the pot, Miss AMP. Either I do a proper diary - which means telling you (whoever 'you' are) more about my life, or I don't. None of this half-assed shyness; no more pseudonyms; no more lies. Or only interesting ones, anyway.
I just got
up and got a glass of water and put on a Cat Power CD. In the other corner
of the room my boyfriend is typing away on his Macintosh G3. I can just
see his hands moving and hear him clicking the mouse and the keys. He's
singing along to Cat Power - nope, now he's whistling. He's redesigning
the AMP website right now. He's a lazy freelancer too:
It's sunny today: I can hear cars in the street outside and the man who runs the furniture shop opposite laughing.
a drawing of me. I am travelling on the tube, writing in my notebook,
thinking about boys.
Anyway, the best thing about this job is that it takes up only about 20-30 hours a week, and I can do it from home, which means more time for my true love: AMP Minizine! Course, you might not think it's my true love: you might think, given my productivity rates (no new print issue since mid-February, fact fans!) that it was just a kind of creepy, slightly embarrassing ex. Aha! You don't know, you see, what's been going on behind the scenes: all kinds of sweaty embraces, all kinds of hard work, all kinds of ground-laying. Yup, AMP's gonna take over the world. AMP's gonna replace all the magazines I just mentioned up above. One day we'll be huge, and I'll employ all my friends and lots of cool fat drunk girl journos, and everything'll be wonderful and there'll be no more eating disorders and no more corporate capitalism and no more, well, no more nothing bad, ever. And until then...See you, same time, same place, tomorrow? Hope so....
PS. Fuck, I sound like an American, don't I? I'm not: honest, swear to God. I was only out there a month! They haven't got me, really. I'm not like them! I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm....